


Oh, You Know Me

by 1000Needles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9480950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000Needles/pseuds/1000Needles
Summary: While Sania's in the Crown City for a conference, she runs into an interesting young man. Consensual light kink and no spoilers.





	

Sania is never particularly excited to be invited to the Crown City for a conference. While she has no difficulty speaking in front of a large crowd, the armchair scientists of the Royal Academy lack field experience, and their questions are invariably tedious. Worse, the traffic is always a pain in the ass. It was dawn when she left Duscae, and already the sun is dipping low as she enters the city gates. 

On the plus side, she doesn't often get a chance to dress up. She even packed a few special items, though she doubts she'll have the opportunity to use them. Still, it never hurts to be prepared.

By the time she deposits her battered old pickup with the valet (who eyes it dubiously) and checks in at the Leville, it's dusk and the shadows are long on the city streets. All she wants to do is get out of her grubby clothes and take a hot shower, but she forgot her razor, damn it, and now she'll have to go buy one before the shops close. She pushes her way out through the hotel’s heavy orichalcum doors and runs directly into a solid wall of man. Rather, he runs into her. 

Her first reaction is sheer disbelief. He's not merely tall, towering high above her, but as broad as a barn door. Her second reaction is oh, of course I would smell of swamp muck, isn't that just my luck. And then she realizes that the collision knocked her messenger bag from her shoulder, and the sidewalk is strewn with loose gil, Crow's Nest receipts, envelopes full of field samples, tampons, and bobby pins.

"Shit," says the wall, and she peers up at him through her glasses; he's younger than she'd taken him for at first impact. "Are you all right?" He kneels to scoop her items back in the bag, and she's momentarily dizzy. The wall is a very, very handsome young man.

"No thanks to you," she says tartly, and accepts the bag into her arms. 

He's still kneeling; he winks up at her. "Well then, I hope we don't run into each other like this again." Then he's sprinting down the sidewalk, throwing a half-salute back at her. No wonder they collided, he's moving far too fast for a busy city street! All the same, she watches his excessively muscled backside disappear around a corner before pulling her hat firmly onto her head and continuing in search of a pharmacy.

Back in her room, she enjoys a very hot shower. They don't have water pressure like this out in the sticks! Sania sings happily as she shaves her legs, and uses lots of the soap, faintly scented with nutmeg and rather nice for a shabby hotel chain. She dries off on the fluffy towels, helps herself to plenty of the supplied lotion, and smooths it liberally over her legs and arms, thinking idly of the tattoos she noticed on that young man's forearms; she'd like to know how far up they go. You could tell they were just the beginning of an elaborate pattern. Then she throws herself on the bed, still wrapped in the towel, and considers her plans. It's too early to call it a night, and the television doesn't interest her. She could read through her notes for tomorrow's lecture, but she knows them backwards and forwards already, and she isn't scheduled to speak until late afternoon. Well, there's always the hotel bar, and perhaps she'll find something there worthy of her attention (although she doubts it).

She's pleased she remembered to pack heels. She won't wear them tomorrow, but they're fine for sitting on a barstool. There's also a sleek black dress, which she zips on and admires briefly. "Looking good," she tells her reflection. She pulls her hair out of the ponytail and fluffs it around her face. Just a little makeup, some subtly sparkling gold eyeshadow to bring out the color of her eyes. That should do it; she's ready for a drink after all those hours breathing exhaust fumes. A drink and maybe something more? Maybe.

The hotel bar is dimly lit (better to hide the fading upholstery and peeling walls, she imagines). Sania sees quite a few suits and nametags on lanyards. Colleagues rubbing shoulders. Ugh. She marches decisively up to the ornately carved bar and leans forward, catching the bartender's eye. "Cleigne scotch! Neat." When he sets it before her, she feels that unfurling of anticipated relaxation that hits before you even take the first sip of a good whisky. She nods her thanks, slides over her gil, and turns, running directly into a very familiar, very solid wall of handsome young man.

She stumbles in her high heels, and the glass goes flying from her hand. Before she can finish saying, "Fu—" he lunges to one knee, shooting out a ridiculously muscled arm, and catches it on the palm of his hand. He only spills a few drops.

"Not a second time!" she sputters. "Really, this is too much." But she can't help being impressed by his reflexes.

He rises gracefully for such a big man and places the glass on the counter beside her. "That wasn't the introduction I meant to make, Professor Yeager. Can I buy you a drink?"

"I believe it's apparent I already have one."

"Then why don't we take our drinks to a table and try having a conversation without a collision?" He grins down at her. "I'll buy you another after you finish that one."

"You're very forward. How do you know my name?"

"Of course I know your name. You're famous." 

Sania rolls her eyes, but she's flattered. "I suppose I can spare a few minutes." She allows him to guide her to a table, sips peacefully at her whisky, and lets him do the talking. He has a pleasant voice, a deep bass rumble. And he's good at carrying a conversation, which Sania appreciates. She wouldn't normally be interested in Citadel gossip, but he takes her through several seamlessly woven anecdotes, coaxing laughter from her on more than one occasion, and she's already wondering if she wants to take him to bed when it occurs to her that she doesn't know his name.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Gladiolus Amicitia. Call me Gladio, everyone does." He's pulling a well-worn book from his bag. "We read this in my intro to bio class. I was hoping you'd sign it."

Sania eyes him suspiciously; surely it's only been a few years since she published that one. "How old are you, dear?"

Gladio returns her gaze unblinking. "Old enough for whatever you’ve got in mind. Want another?" He nods at her glass. She smiles, considering, and decides.

"That would certainly be nice, thank you."

After he returns with the drinks, he leans forward, both elbows on the table. "I was able to confirm your theory about gigantoads on a hunting trip last year."

Oh, this one knows how to catch her attention. "Really? How so?"

"Well," he begins, and launches into the story. As interested as she is, she finds herself distracted by the broad gestures he makes as he describes the hunt. He’s wearing a tight-fitting tank top that leaves little to the imagination, and as she'd suspected, the tattoos continue up his forearms to his ostentatiously thick biceps, where they disappear under the ribbed fabric. She's halfway through her second scotch, and beginning to feel deliciously melty. He eventually notices her wandering attention.

"Want to take the conversation somewhere more private?"

Sania smiles impishly at him. Then she leans forward and whispers something in his ear. Gladio's eyes get very big. "Yeah," he says, "yeah, I'd like that. Hang on a minute." He gets up and goes to the bar. When he returns, he’s got a bottle of champagne in one hand and a pair of flutes in the other.

"Sweet-talked the bartender into selling you those?"

"Sure did." He tucks the champagne under his arm and offers his hand. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

When the elevator doors close Gladio drops the bottle and glasses to the floor and they make out, hungrily as teenagers, his hands dipping inside the low cut of her dress to cup her breasts. He's a good kisser, not as aggressive as she'd feared. He smells good too, musky in a pleasant way that makes her thighs tremble. They break off long enough for her to get the key in the door and deposit the wine on a table and then come together again, his hands in her hair, hers spread across his broad back. Sania works his shirt up and gasps happily as he bends down to let her pull it off. He’s got the most remarkable tattoos underneath! In the bar they’d just looked like patterns, but now she can see it's actually one enormous bird that spans most of his upper body, the cruel beak poised just over a nipple. "A zuu," she breathes, "oh, how lovely. I worked on one of their breeding programs, you know. My, you must have an exquisite tolerance for pain."

He grins down at her. "In talented hands, yes."

In response, Sania opens her traveling bag and, as promised, pulls out an item that makes him stare with bright-eyed interest. She tosses him a vial. "I suggest you go prepare yourself, pretty boy."

While he's in the bathroom, she kicks off her heels and panties and settles the harness around her hips. It's soft, well-worked leather, and she smooths it over her skin with satisfaction. Then she hefts its companion gently before attaching it to the harness. It's a magnificent dick, custom-made in Altissia, a respectable seven inches with impressive girth. Sania rolls her hips, enjoying its weight, and makes herself comfortable on the bed, pushing her dress up around her waist and stroking it languorously. 

"That’s fucking hot," Gladio says from the doorway. His pants are off now and Sania takes the opportunity to appreciate his somewhat overwhelming nakedness. He's a big slab of meat, this one! He saunters towards her, clearly enjoying her gaze, and climbs onto the bed between her legs, running a warm hand up her thigh. Then he draws her cock into his mouth with ease and Sania moans and thrusts her hips upwards. She palms her breasts and thumbs the nipples, watching him work her shaft like an expert. When he licks back down and nuzzles between her thighs, she fumbles with the straps on one side and unfastens them, pushes the leather up to give him better access.

"Yes, that's it," she says breathlessly, tangling her fingers in his hair, "that's it, go to town. I'm ready for you." He doesn't need more encouragement, he's already in there, his tongue lapping against her aching clit. Then she feels a spark that makes her hips buck wildly, and she gasps in wonder. There's a faint haze of blue in the air, sparkling around their bodies.

"Is that _magic?_ How do you do that?"

Gladio lifts his head and tongues the head of her cock while making slow, deliberate eye contact. "Sorry, gorgeous, that's a trade secret." He dives down again and sucks her between his lips, teasing her with little bursts of electricity, until she's frantic, pounding his shoulders with her fists. She comes hard, driving against him, and he rides out her orgasm with his hands wrapped around her ass and his face buried between her thighs.

"Oh," she sighs, limp against the pillows, "oh, that was nice." He gives her clit a last gentle kiss and rises, crossing the room to pop open the champagne. It spills over his fingers as he fills the two flutes. He brings one to her.

"M'lady."

"Aren't you the charmer." She tips a salute before drinking. The bubbles burn her throat pleasantly. "Enjoy that wine while you can. You're going to be on your hands and knees in a few minutes."

Gladio pauses with the glass halfway to his lips, and his cock, already jutting enthusiastically, gives a delicious twitch. "Why wait?" He drains the glass in a gulp and springs onto the bed. Sania has to laugh: it's like playing with a behemoth! She pulls her dress over her head and stands behind him, refastening the harness securely on her hips. His cock and balls hang heavily between his legs and she can't resist cupping the two fat eggs and greeting them with a friendly squeeze. He has a beautiful ass, muscular and furred. She gives it a firm, open-handed smack and he yelps.

"You like this, don't you?" she murmurs, smacking him again. "Oh, I can see that you do. Lift that ass, big guy, show me what you got." Gladio sighs in assent and arches, presenting an irresistible target. She spanks him until her palm is sore, then scoots up on the bed to nuzzle his panting, flushed face and make sure he's still having fun. After all, this is only the appetizer! She switches hands, and he takes the last dozen slaps with a noticeable change in his breathing that tells her he's not bored. 

She lets him rest before moving on to the main course, bringing him another glass of champagne that he drinks greedily, chest still heaving. Then she directs him back into position, needing only the barest of taps on his very red ass to get him moving. He waits patiently while she digs into her bag for a condom and rolls it carefully onto her cock, then settles the base low and firm on her mound, exactly where she likes it. 

"Ready for me?" she whispers, running her nails down his hot skin. "Tell me how much you want this."

He laughs breathlessly. "Fuck me, Professor Yeager." 

There's something delightfully taboo about the way he says it, deep and almost a growl but so needy, and she can't wait any longer, she wants him now, now! When she spreads his cheeks, she finds him soft and slightly gaping from his preparations. Sania crushes another vial in her hand anyway, being of the scientific opinion that one can never have too much lubrication. She tests him gently with the head of her cock. He groans and pushes back against the pressure, opening enough that she's able to slide in without too much effort. She drives in to the hilt, and the hard slap of her hips against his freshly beaten ass makes him gasp. 

She caresses one cheek, enjoying the radiant heat. "Good boy. You're doing beautifully, sweetheart." Then she begins fucking him in earnest.

She's wet and primed and sets herself an ambitious rhythm, each thrust sending marvelous shivers through her cunt that spur her on to greater energy. Gladio takes it all, matching her pace, letting her grind on his ass until she feels that long, slow wave start to rise inside. She's rocking, holding out as long as she can, curled over his back, when she remembers to be unselfish and slip one arm around his waist, the other holding onto his shoulder blade for balance. Getting a proper handle on his cock is awkward at first—he's so much bigger than she is!—but then she figures it out, they fit together like building stones, and she gets him good and slick and lets herself fly. It's one of those orgasms that feels as if she could ride it forever, and dimly she's aware that she's letting Gladio do all the work while he fucks himself on her hand. Then he's coming too, his cock jumping in her grip, and as she floats down from her high she coaxes the last tremors out of him before slowly, carefully withdrawing. 

Sania unfastens the harness with shaky fingers and pushes it off the bed. She climbs over Gladio to avoid the damp bedspread and curls up behind him. He flops onto his back. She can't resist nibbling gently on one of his lovely nipples, and he works his fingers into her hair and sighs.

"Luckiest collision I ever had. Were you wearing your glasses this whole time?"

"Always do. I can't see a thing without them."

He caresses the curve of her cheek. "Nothing sexier than a pair of glasses on a pretty face. I wish I could have seen you come."

They rest like that for a while, idly exploring each other, until Sania decides she wants more champagne and Gladio insists on washing her gear. "You did all the work," he says, which is patently ridiculous, and she laughs but lets him do it. While he's in the bathroom, she digs into his bag and finds the book he brought. She opens it to the flyleaf and inscribes, in neatly looping handwriting, "Let's do this again sometime—you're a remarkable specimen. With pleasure, Sania Yeager." Then she tucks the book back in its place, spreads out on the bed, and smiles widely. Perhaps she won't decline the next conference invitation after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Sekiei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sekiei/pseuds/Sekiei/) for the incisive suggestions and editing expertise <3


End file.
